“Everything as charged.”
“To you?”
“To me.”
“Yikes.”
“Exactly.”
Suitcase stood up.
“Oscar LaBrea threatened you with a weapon?”
“He did.”
“And you didn’t kill him?”
“Astonishing, isn’t it?”
“Is that why he suffered this so-called accident?”
“Possibly.”
Suitcase stared at him for several moments.
“What did you do to him?”
“Let’s just say his nose got out of joint.”
Suitcase looked at him, then he turned and headed for the door.
“Suit,” Jesse said.
Suitcase looked back at him.
“Let me know when it’s done.”
—
No sooner had Suitcase gone than Dave Muntz appeared.
“What’s up,” he said.
“Research,” Jesse said.
“What kind of research?”
“I want you to scour the Internet. Check Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Craigslist. Everything. I know it’s a long shot, but anything’s possible.”
“You want me to look for information regarding Ryan Rooney?”
“I want you to hunt for the anomaly. Anything that seems out of the ordinary. It’s probably a wild-goose chase, but I don’t think we should overlook anything.”
Muntz nodded. He headed for the door. Then he turned back.
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“Because I know about the Internet?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a barrelful of surprises,” Jesse said. “You can’t afford to ignore this stuff. Everyone seems to be tuned in. Maybe the killer was, too.”
“Worth a try, I suppose.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
46
Jesse stopped off at the Town Hall on his way to the station.
He went to see Carter Hansen, who was alone in his office, staring at the ceiling.
“You heard,” Jesse said.
“That poor girl,” Hansen said.
“I’m sorry, Carter. I know how much this meant to you.”
“To all of us.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“How’s the other one? The Greenberg girl?”
“Stabilized.”
“Will she pull through?”
“I hope so.”
“Is it true that the husband is the prime suspect?”
“I’d have to believe so.”
“Not the redskin?”
“The redskin? Jesus, Carter, what century are you living in?”
“He certainly had cause,” Hansen said.
“Try not to bandy about your racism,” Jesse said.
“Whatever,” Hansen said. “I think he did it.”
“You can’t be serious,” Jesse said.
“Dead serious,” Hansen said. “Particularly given the way she spoke to him the other day.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“How can you say that with such assurance?”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I believe he did it,” Hansen said. “I don’t think that an actor could actually murder someone. Especially not his own wife.”
“You’re certainly entitled to your opinion, Carter, but you’re wrong.”
Jesse stood.
“I guess this wasn’t such a good idea,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I should have learned by now never to underestimate the depths of your buffoonery.”
“The door’s open,” Hansen said.
“I noticed,” Jesse said.
—
You actually called him a buffoon,” Molly said.
“In a manner of speaking,” Jesse said.
They were sitting in Jesse’s office. Jesse was drinking coffee.
“My tolerance factor is definitely diminished,” Jesse said.
“And you’re not afraid to let everyone know it.”
“He’s a moron.”
“He’s the head selectman.”
“Which isn’t a license to practice idiocy.”
“It’s a license to behave as he chooses.”
“That’s a load of crap.”
Molly stood. She sighed.
“Pete Perkins called,” she said.
“Can you get him for me, please?”
“Sore fingers, have we?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
She left his office and after a few moments shouted, “Pete on line one.”
“Thank you.”
“You owe me.”
Jesse picked up the call.
“What’s up,” he said.
“There was a break-in at one of the cottages near the movie location.” Jesse didn’t say anything. “Two doors away from the murder site. Kitchen window was smashed. Looks like someone entered the cottage through it and stayed for a while.”
“Did you call in a CSI team?”
“We did. They just arrived.”
“Let me know what they find.”
“As soon as I know,” Perkins said.
—
Captain Healy on line four,” Molly said.
“I was right,” Healy said, when Jesse picked up.
“Meaning?”
“Lucas Wellstein.”
“He phoned?”
“He not only phoned, he’s on his way to Paradise.”
“Should I go into hiding?”
“You might want to consider it. Oh, and I’m on my way also.”
“Looking for ink, too?”
“Actually, I was hoping for a shot on The View.”
Jesse didn’t say anything. “You’ll want to keep an eye on your temper,” Healy said.
“Why would you say a thing like that?”
“You know why. I’ll be there within the hour.”
Healy ended the call. Jesse sat back in his chair.
He swiveled around and stared out the window.
—
Jesse noticed a black Crown Victoria sedan pull up in front of the station.
Four men climbed out. They wore identical black suits, gray ties, and dark sunglasses. They headed for the entrance.
After a few moments, Molly stuck her head into Jesse’s office.
“Special Agent Lucas Wellstein of the Federal Bureau of Investigation to see you.”
“Tell him I’m not in.”
“Too late.”
“You mean you told him I was here?”
“Proudly.”
“Jesus.”
Lucas Wellstein pushed past Molly and entered the office. He approached Jesse with his hand extended.
“Lucas Wellstein,” he said.
Jesse stood and accepted Wellstein’s hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Chief Stone,” Wellstein said.
“Jesse.”
“Excuse me?”
“The name’s Jesse.”
“Okay. Jesse,” Wellstein said, peering at him more closely.
Wellstein was an old-looking young man with an eminently forgettable moon-shaped face that featured coal-black eyes, which radiated paranoia and suspicion. His furtive glances from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, coupled with his self-conscious awkwardness, put Jesse in mind of Richard Nixon.
“We’re here regarding the Hinton murder case,” Wellstein said.
“And so fast, too.”
“Can you take us to the crime scene?”
“I can.”
Jesse didn’t move.
“Now,” Wellstein said.
“You mean you want to go now?”
“Yes.”
Jesse stood and looked at the door.
“Would you like me to take you there,” he said.
“Yes. I would.”
“Then please feel free to follow.”
Jesse looked at Molly, whose full-faced grin forced him to turn away.
Then it was on to the crime scene.
47
Captain Healy was already at the scene when Jesse and the cavalry arrived.
Lucas Wellstein approached him.
“Captain,” he said to Healy.
“Lucas,” Healy said.